


Scent-sational Stiles Stilinski

by IndraraSkye



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angels apparently made Derek's clothes by hand, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Rated E for F bombs, T-shirts are fluffy, Tags Are Hard, clueless stiles, scent mixing, shirt stealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndraraSkye/pseuds/IndraraSkye
Summary: Derek's bad about leaving shirts at Stiles's place after fights. Stiles enjoys the feel of Derek's clothes, so he adopts them. Derek gets super growly about it. Valentine's hijinks occur, and everyone comes out of it learning a valuable lesson about the importance of scents to werewolves.





	

“Is that my shirt?”

Stiles could hear the growl in Derek’s voice. He looked down, and sure enough, it was one of Derek’s shirts. He figured that if the alpha didn’t want Stiles wearing them, he probably shouldn’t leave them in his room after fights with baddies. It wasn’t his fault that Derek’s shirts were actually made of fluffy clouds and sunshine. Derek should buy cheaper shirts and take them home with him if he was going to be all growly about it.

He twirled his desk chair around to face his bedroom window, finding Derek leaning against the wall to the left of the window. “Yeah, it appears it is. So what?”

Derek turned around and headed out the window, calling after him, “Take it off, Stiles.”

There was no way that was happening. That shirt was his now. Some wolves were just going to have to learn to take their shit home with them if they weren’t willing to share their happiness in a T shape with others. Sure, so far Derek had shared something like five shirts with Stiles, but Stiles truly appreciated every single one of them and silently vowed to give them a good home and make each of them happy because they had to be super expensive because they could be washed and dried just like normal shirts but they weren’t scratchy and didn’t have any tags and the seams didn’t itch at his skin and he could wear them without the feeling of ants crawling all over his skin. They were his. Derek was just going to have to accept this. He was not taking it off. Sourwolf could get over it.

Derek was long gone as soon as he’d exited the window. Stiles knew that. It didn’t stop him from calling out a resounding “no” after his t-shirt donor. He shrugged and swiveled the chair back around to face his laptop. Kelpies weren’t going to research themselves, and apparently the supernatural liked to pile itself on. Scott and Derek were focused on preparing for the arrival of the alpha pack and whatever trouble they were going to bring and not actually killing each other while preparing, so Stiles decided to do all he could to deal with the kelpies that were cropping up in the meantime.

~~~

Shivers wracked through him, an electric current of cold just under his skin. Water dripped in fat droplets from his drooping, sopping hair to the puddle forming around his feet, and the long sleeve shirt that had been oversized and baggy just a half hour ago clung and formed around his skin. All he could do to deal with the kelpies by himself hadn’t been enough; thankfully, Derek had been available to save his ass. It had been Derek’s turn to save him, anyway. It was kind of their thing to take turns there. He closed his eyes and shook his head like a wet golden retriever, enjoying the spray of water jettisoning off the ends of his hair.

“What. The. Hell. Stiles.”

He glanced up at an equally sopping Derek Hale, who was brooding at him with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. That damn wolf wasn’t even shivering. He could at least pretend to be cold for Stiles’s sake. Scott would have pretended to be cold. If he’d been around. If he hadn’t had that date with Allison and was available for saving Stiles’s ass when it had needed saving. If…Stiles gave up. He’d have called Derek even if Scott had been available. Derek was more fun in a fight and knew of more ways to save Stiles when he needed it. Derek was still making broody face, though, and Stiles had no idea why. He shrugged. Another tremor ran from one wrist to the other.

“I give up. What the hell, Derek?”

Derek sniffed the air. “That’s my shirt. You’re wearing my shirt. Again. I’m pretty sure we’ve…discussed this already--”

“You told me to take your other shirt off. This is not your other shirt.” Stiles hugged himself tightly, his teeth chattering. He was cold, and he really wanted to change into the other warm shirt that Derek had left there after one of their fights with Peter—it was perfect for cold weather and post-kelpie banter—so he needed Derek to get to his point some time that evening.

“Stop wearing my stuff, Stiles.” Derek’s voice flashed that sharp edge it usually only took in Scott’s presence, and Stiles raised an eyebrow. Mr. High and Mighty had his shorts in a bunch over something, and Stiles seriously doubted it had to do with 100% cotton, machine-washable goodness.

“Stop leaving your stuff at my place, Derek,” he quipped in return, turning to his chest of drawers to find the thermal henley he’d been dreaming about since that first kelpie had spit on him and a pair of warm flannel pajama pants. “It gets left on my floor, it becomes mine. That’s how that works. It’s not my fault that your clothes are so much more comfortable and luxurious than mine.” He stripped the long sleeved tee off and tossed it into a corner, turning around to point his warm shirt at Derek, but the spot on his floor that had just boasted an alpha wolf was empty and only slightly soggy. A breeze fluttered in through his now-open bedroom window, and he threw the shirt on and rushed over to shut it.

~~~

He woke up the following Wednesday morning to a pile of filled shopping bags in the center of his bedroom floor. It was like Christmas in January. He cocked his head suspiciously, only slightly afraid that if he moved they’d explode. The bags were labeled Macy’s and Nordstrom. He didn’t know anyone who could afford Macy’s and Nordstrom with the exception of Lydia, and there was no way she’d spontaneously shop for him and then randomly let herself into his house and then leave the things in the middle of his bedroom without a single word or a demand for praise and worship.

He crawled out of bed slowly, tip toeing over to the bags and looking for any prank items set up around the perimeter. Scott or Isaac could very easily recycle some of Lydia’s trash to fuck with him. Nothing went off. He touched one with his index finger. Nothing exploded. He poked and prodded at the bag. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he opened it up and discovered what had to be a dozen of those wonderful allergen-free t-shirts he’d liberated from Derek, all still in their original packaging and in various colors. They were all Derek sized, too. An eyebrow shot up. Derek had gone clothes shopping for him. That was a weird and slightly fascinating development in their friendship.

He opened another bag and found six different Derek-size thermal henleys in six different colors. Underneath those were two soft, fuzzy black sweaters. All of them had the tags on them. Another bag proffered long sleeve tees, and there were two entire bags of Derek-size hoodies. He gawked at the clothes and wondered briefly if Derek had robbed a bank or something and then shoved the bags toward the back of his closet. A new day brought new supernatural issues with it, and vampires didn’t seem willing to just discuss their strengths and weaknesses with him. He got the blue t-shirt Derek had left in his room last month out of his drawer, threw on a new hoodie that hadn’t made it into the closet, and headed down to the kitchen for about a liter of coffee.

~~~

With enough time and a short enough fuse, it turned out that vampires could find you annoying enough to strap you to a chair and torture you physically. Who knew? It had taken a month, but he had managed to irritate an entire nest.

“Seriously, do you guys really hate garlic, sunlight, and long-haired hippies?”

The blond vampire in front of him snarled, rearing back and then striking him across the face. Blood from his lip dribbled down his chin and settled on his sky blue t-shirt. It was going to stain, and it was one of his favorites. He was also pretty sure it was Derek’s. On top of everything else, he was going to have to listen to that old song and dance when his favorite alpha finally arrived to save his bacon. For someone who was all pissed off about him wearing his clothes, Derek was still leaving shirts on his floor after fights. _Blah, blah, blah, bleeding on the floor, come back for it later, blah, blah, blah._ That man should have known after months of this that if the shirt hit his floor, it belonged to Stiles.

“Hey, how do you get blood stains out of cotton that was actually delivered down from heaven itself and woven while choirs of angels sang hymns to its comforts and beauty? I’m asking for a friend. If anyone would know that, you would, right?” 

The vamp answered with more growling and snarling, and Stiles was just about to inform him that Derek was more terrifying than that when he got interrupted before his morning caffeine when canid growling and snarling erupted from the tunnel behind him. The troops had arrived. He could always count on the troops arriving. He smiled at the vamp, who looked slightly confused. “You’re gonna get it now,” Stiles promised. “You stained one of his shirts. He’s been very particular about his clothes lately.”

The vamp sneered. “I’ll show you stains, you annoying little shit.” He slashed at Stiles’s arm with what Stiles would swear were claws if he didn’t know that vampires didn’t have claws. The skin ripped under the razor-sharp talons, jagged lines that felt more than looked like lightning left in their wake. Thick blood oozed from the wounds, the crimson mixing with his glorious sky blue material and staining it maroon. He winced at the stabs of agony from his arm and hoped that Derek had another shirt this color. It looked really good with his skin.

Three beta-form wolves rushed into the room he was being held in—Scott, Erica, and Derek were biting and snapping, growls rolling out of them and claws extended. Stiles grinned a smug lopsided grin. They were more menacing than an entire nest of vamps, and they hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. He couldn’t help but be proud of his wolves. They grew up so quickly.

Nobody bothered untying him from the chair. They just attacked the vamps in the room, biting and clawing and scratching and frothing their way through the melee. Stiles whooped and hollered and cheered in all the appropriate places, doing his part in this particular fight and reminding them that he was still strapped to this damned chair. It didn’t take long for the three wolves to take care of seven vamps, which didn’t really speak well to the general quality of vampires in Beacon Hills. It could have reflected the high quality of his wolves more, but he really suspected that the vamps in this area just sucked. Scott ambled over while Derek and Erica took care of the last vamp and slashed the straps restraining Stiles’s wrists. Stiles flashed a smile at his favorite beta in the whole world and undid the straps restraining his ankles.

“Damn it, Stiles. That had better not be my shirt. You have four bags of new clothes.”

He didn’t bother to look down at the shirt. “Yes, I do. And why do I have four bags of new clothes, by the way?” He had no idea what this hang-up of Derek’s was, but it wasn’t his fault that the alpha had a thing for changing in Stiles’s house and then leaving his clothes behind. It also wasn’t his fault that Derek’s stuff was softer than his own, even the stuff Derek had bought for him. Maybe it was Derek’s detergent. He should find out what he used.

“So you’d stop wearing my stuff, Stiles. Seriously. It’s mine. That’s blood on my shirt now, isn’t it? Jesus. Stop. Wearing. My. Shit.”

“WHAT is the big deal, dude? It’s a shirt. What detergent do you use?”

“Whatever I grab at the market. It’s my shit. You wear your own shit.” And Derek was growling again. A hand clamped down on Stiles’s left shoulder. “Dude, he’s talking to you like he normally talks to me. What’d you do?” Stiles looked back and Scott grinned at him. He considered punching Scott in the face, but decided against it because Scott was sort of a little bit right. Derek needed to unbunch his panties. Stiles scowled at Derek instead of punching Scott. “Yeah, dude. Talk nice to me. I’m almost sort of kind of your friend. Maybe. I’m at least your research monkey, anyway.”

Derek scowled, his jaw twitching. Stiles could hear a layer of Derek’s teeth grinding into dust from where he stood. “I AM being nice to you, Stiles,” he ground out. “I just need you to not wear my shit. You need to not wear my shit.” His jaw twitched again. “Just. Don’t wear my shit.”

Stiles glared at Derek. He was being stupid. “You’ll need to just get used to it, man. Your shirts are my shirts now. That’s the way it should be. Accept this and we’ll all be better off.”

~~~

Stiles hated Valentine’s Day. It was all hearts and flowers and Scott mooning over Allison and Allison mooning over Scott and everyone telling him that they didn’t want to have a serial killer movie marathon because that wasn’t appropriate, Stiles. It was ridiculous. Serial killers were what Valentine’s Day was all about. Nobody ever studied up on their history anymore. 

He’d just settled into the couch with a gigantic bowl of Mounds bars and cheddar popcorn and every Freddy movie in existence when someone actually knocked on his front door. He thought about locating his bat—nobody ever knocked on his front door—but decided it would probably be a bad move if he scared a random solicitor senseless on a Hallmark Holiday. He opened the front door to find Derek Hale standing on his front porch and looking nervous. This couldn’t be good.

“Derek?”

“Stiles.” Derek licked at his lips, his tongue darting out rapidly and then disappearing again. There was no way that whatever came next was going to be not bad.

“Why are you standing on my porch on this fine evening?”

“I thought I’d come over so you didn’t have to endure your serial killer marathon alone--”

“I’m gonna stop you there, dude. There is no _enduring_ a serial killer marathon. There is enjoying a serial killer marathon. There is experiencing moments of sheer bliss during a serial killer marathon. There is the heaven of serial killer--”

“Oh my god, stop. That is seriously enough. I get it. Serial killers are great. Fine. I’m here to watch movies with you.”

Stiles shrugged and offered a quick half smile. “Come on in. You feeling okay?” Derek had used the front door, which was totally odd, but if he was down to watch a whole night of Freddy, Stiles was willing to offer him a Mounds bar and a spot on the couch. He wouldn’t have pegged Derek Hale as a Freddy Kreuger kind of guy. He turned around to head back to the nest he’d fashioned in the living room and heard the door close behind him, so he kept walking. “I have Mounds bars, popcorn, iced coffee, and water. We may have a soda or two in the fridge. I honestly have no idea. Do you even like soda? I mean, I think this might be the first time we’ve found ourselves in a situation in which I had to offer you something to drink…We’ve been half naked lots, usually bleeding and possibly concussed, and we’ve planned and plotted, but I’m pretty sure none of those were like 'let’s get a soda' situations. What do you drink? Do you even drink? I mean, for all I know you could be one of those big tough alphas who only drinks fresh water from natural springs while they’re running or some shit. Is that what big tough alphas do? Like, what--”

A prolonged sigh rang out from behind him. “Coffee.”

Stiles glanced back, lashing his head around so quickly he could hear his neck pop. “What?”

Derek shut his eyes and shook his head. “I drink coffee. Usually made with water from the tap. Which I drink out of a glass.” He rubbed at that spot between his eyebrows with his middle finger. 

“Oh. Okay. Iced coffee okay? It’s in the living room already and I don’t really want to--”

“This is going to be the longest night of my life, isn’t it? Iced coffee sounds great. Popcorn sounds great. _Nightmare on Elm Street_ sounds great. Let’s just sit down so I can relax just a bit, huh?”

Stiles cocked his head. Derek did look…anxious. He’d say nervous, but Derek didn’t really have any reason to be nervous hanging out at Stiles’s place with no baddies, supernatural or other, staring at them. They had a break for just a moment in their lives. Stiles pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, huddling into it like a turtle. Derek couldn’t possibly be pissed about the hoodie; it was one of Stiles’s hoodies. It was one of the hoodies he’d bought for him, but it was still technically one of _Stiles’s_ hoodies. Derek had no reason to be all difficult about anything this time, so he would just have to get over whatever he was under and now he was making Stiles anxious and an anxious Stiles was not a fun Stiles and Valentine’s Day was just horrible. Ugh. This was all Derek’s fault. Stiles fidgeted where he stood, scratching at the insides of his cuffs with his scraggly, almost nonexistent fingernails and biting at his lower lip. Now they were both anxious over whatever it was that Derek had really come over to tell him. They got along well enough when nobody else was looking, but they weren’t exactly movie buddies. 

Stiles huffed and flounced down onto his spot on the couch. “Well, sit, then. Relax just a bit. I still don’t get why you’re not relaxed now. Seriously. The vamps turned out to be cake, and now we know that vampires are, in fact, something to be trifled with, which I feel was a valuable lesson for everyone involved. The kelpies have gone back deep, where they belong, and that’s all taken care of. The Alpha pack is a pain in the ass, but we’ll deal with them the way we’ve always dealt with things—together. It’s all fine, Derek. We’ve got this. Scott isn’t an official part of your pack because he’s a bit of an asshole, but we’ve still got your back, man. I really hope you know that. Between your pack and ours, we’ll get through that. You can relax. Watch Freddy kill people in their sleep. That always makes things better for me.” He held out a can of iced coffee, and Derek grabbed it, a soft smile gently illuminating his face. He almost looked friendly when he smiled like that. Stiles couldn’t help but notice that, bringing a return smile of his own. Their fingers brushed over the can, which wasn’t a first, but it felt like a first time—a weird first time. The soft brush of skin on his skin, a slight electric tingle—these were not things that he noticed when he and Derek Hale accidentally made contact. These were feelings that had hardly been present when Lydia and he had been goofing off together. He looked at the cushion lining the back of the couch as he tried to mentally reason with the heat rising up his cheeks. There was no reason for any sort of embarrassment around Derek freaking Hale. It was just Derek. They’d fought together. They’d saved each other’s asses on numerous occasions. They were comrades, allies, and some-time acquaintances. Hanging out was fine. Passing drinks to each other was a guy sort of thing to do. He’d just go get another bowl for Derek’s popcorn.

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, raising the heat level under his skin and giving reason for the bright red that was spreading across his neck. He kept staring at the back of the couch; his mind couldn’t make sense of what it thought just happened—or didn’t just happen. Maybe nothing had happened. Probably nothing had happened. It was a fucking can of coffee. Jesus. 

“Stiles.”

The sudden sound of Derek’s sharper voice filling the void around them startled him. He jumped, physically bouncing against his seat on the couch before sitting board straight on the edge of the couch and looking everywhere but at Derek. His brain still didn’t seem capable of parsing…anything. He felt around the couch cushion near him for the remote, determined to get this marathon going and Christ, he could do this. He wasn’t into guys. He was into girls. He’d loved Lydia since the third grade. He’d flirted with a couple girls in class through the years. He’d never looked twice at guys. He’d never looked twice at Derek, except to make sure he wasn’t going to like eat him or rip his throat out. Jesus. He could do this.

“Stiles!”

He glanced at Derek, who had the gall to actually look him in the face and arch an eyebrow. Stiles glared at him. Derek should have known better than to actually _look_ at him! The Bro Code existed for a reason. Derek might have been a wolf who was actually raised by wolves, but even he knew the Bro Code. Stiles knew he knew; they’d been in public restrooms together before. He deepened his glare. Derek deepened the arch to his eyebrow. Stiles crossed his arms; Derek slouched back against the couch, the amused expression never leaving his face. Stiles harrumphed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly and carrying on his search for the remote. Because Derek was a complete and utter ass at all times, he smirked at Stiles and stretched out an arm, remote in hand. Stiles snatched it, hit play, and slumped against the couch back so he could face the TV. Fucking alpha wolves. He crossed his arms over his chest and focused in on all the nightmares occurring on Elm Street.

It took all of about fifteen minutes for him to forget that things had gotten almost weird for half a second, because movies about supernatural serial killers were good for just that sort of thing, and he never did get that second bowl for Derek to eat popcorn and Mounds bars out of. Really, that was just more dishes to do in the long run, and ugh, dishes. Their hands would brush occasionally as they ate their goodies, but hey, Bro Code was in place and there was no awkward lingering or excessive contact so it was okay. Stiles was going to have to dig the room humidifier out of the closet, though, because the static electricity must have been crazy given the electric jolts he was getting every time they accidentally touched. He huddled into his hoodie, subconsciously rubbing his jawline back and forth across the edge of the hood during a more sedate point in the first movie. From the spot right next to him, he could hear Derek’s deep inhale. Derek was close enough that he could feel the wolf’s chest expand with the breath in. When had he moved so close? Was their great and fearless alpha wolf afraid of fictitious supernatural serial killers?! Stiles snorted, amusing himself with the thought. It would be so great if the great and wonderful Oz himself couldn’t handle scary movies—even though they were at a super boring point in the movie and Stiles was starting to grow a bit fidgety and good god did Freddy need to do some damage on screen sometime soon because holy god, Derek was really, really close. Like, this was not two buddies drinking iced coffee and enjoying chocolate bars and popcorn and scary movies the way god meant for them to be enjoyed sort of close. His proximity was starting to feel more like two guys enjoying chocolate bars ad popcorn and scary movies and iced coffee the way god meant for them to be enjoyed on a _date_ sort of close, which couldn’t be the case because Stiles was totally not into guys and Derek Hale was sort of big with the ladies and wouldn’t look twice at Stiles like that even if he were into guys because they were frie—okay, not _friends_ , but friendly enough when nobody was paying attention that they were bros. They were bros. Bros didn’t date each other. Did they? He thought of sitting close like this with Scott. It didn’t seem weird. Of course, nothing ever felt date-like with Scott. They could sit practically on top of each other and then nuggy each other to the floor over a n00b move in _Call of Duty_ and that felt totally normal. Because it was. Just like this was. Stop it, Stiles. This was normal. Derek came over to be nice, and Stiles was trying to turn it weird and he needed to stop because Derek was normal and actually trying to do something nice for him, even after he got so bent out of shape about Stiles wearing his stuff…Which he _was_ doing tonight. He’d forgotten about his undershirt. Derek had left a really nice royal blue shirt on the edge of his desk after their little spat with a fairy, of all things, that past Tuesday, and it didn’t smell or anything so Stiles popped it on today under his hoodie. Oops. At least Derek couldn’t see it. All would be well.

The second movie started, and Stiles settled back for more nightmares on screen. Derek’s arm was between him and the back of the couch when he settled back this time, but he cleared his throat and settled back. This was not weird. Maybe this was how they did it in Derek’s pack. Stiles had never hung out with his pack before, so he didn’t know. They were bros and it was Stiles’s house, which meant it was up to Stiles to make sure that he didn’t weird the whole thing out. He was not going ruin everything with Nice Derek because his brain was going to bizarre places. Everything would be fine. He adjusted and maybe burrowed into the crook of Derek’s arm just a little bit. It wasn’t really snuggling. Bros didn’t snuggle, and Derek was definitely a bro sort of guy, Stiles kept reminding himself. Stiles was just a little bit cold, and there was no reason that he shouldn’t be comfortable. He would have settled back and burrowed into the couch, after all. Derek was the one who had wanted to stretch out. Stiles was a good host. He wasn’t going to say that Derek couldn’t do it, but he also wasn’t going to be all uncomfortable, himself. Derek could live. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed more relaxed once Stiles settled against his arm. It must be a thing they did in their pack. Stiles wondered what that was like. It was probably nice. He could see them all piling up on top of each other-Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Derek—and watching TV or something together. He should suggest that to Scott. It would be good to bond like this with Scott and Allison and whoever else they were claiming as pack at the moment. He quietly wondered from time to time if Derek was secretly a great alpha, but like bribed his pack members to keep it all hush-hush to protect his bad-ass reputation. He could see Derek doing something like that.

Something loud and bright happened in the movie, bouncing him out of his thoughts and causing him to physically startle against Derek. Derek rumbled out a low chuckle and brushed his fingertips along the outside of Stiles’s arm to help soothe him. Stiles let his head drop against the joint of Derek’s armpit. Now that he knew this was just what they did in Derek’s pack, it was okay to just relax and enjoy being warm. Derek was a secret cuddler. Nothing wrong with that.

Derek popped the mostly empty bowl of popcorn and Mounds bars onto his lap so they could both reach the goodies inside and they cuddled on the couch and enjoyed the second installment of Freddy Krueger ruining and then ending many people’s lives.

Stiles yawned and burrowed further into Derek’s side. “You wanna watch the third?”

He could feel more than hear Derek’s snort from his position against the wolf. “You gonna make it through a third movie?”

He poked at Derek with one finger and glanced up. “You gonna let me sleep if I don’t?”

The smile Derek offered him was soft and small and looked almost adorable. “I can do that if you’d like me to.” He bent over slightly and brushed his lips lightly across Stile’s hairline. It…could have been a kiss. Was it a kiss? Did Derek just kiss him? What had just happened? It might not have been a kiss. He’d never seen Derek kiss anyone. Derek was not a kissy guy. Of course, until a couple of hours ago, he would have sworn under oath that Derek wasn’t a cuddler, either. Stiles didn’t know what to do, how to respond. He needed to play cool. Probably nothing just happened. Should he just play like nothing happened? Go back to cuddling? Oh god, he hadn’t answered Derek yet. “Uh, yes. Yes of course I’d like you to. A sleeping Stiles is a happy Stiles, man.” He swatted at Derek’s chest, and then immediately regretted his entire life. He’d just _swatted_ at Derek’s _chest_. Like, what the hell? Girls did that to _flirt_. Was he flirting with Derek now? When had that happened? Maybe Derek hadn’t noticed his faux pas. They could get past this. They could just pretend like it had never happened and everything would be fine. Bro Code enacted, Dude Walls in place. Or he could move far, far away. This was his life now. He was going to have to move to Siberia to get away from this. He was going to have to figure out what he could do to make money to support himself in Siberia because he was an idiot. He wondered if he could learn to make ice sculptures. They were probably a big hit over there. Maybe they were still communist in the far reaches of Siberia. He’d just have to stand in line for necessities if they were. Maybe he could travel with nomads and live in yurts. He could do cold winters in yurts. It would be fine. In true Stiles fashion, he responded to his embarrassment by opening his mouth. “Do you think they sell yurts in Communist lines in Siberia?”

 _Jesus_. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Derek’s chest without thinking about it. He could feel Derek repressing what were probably gigantic guffaws of laughter. At least he was trying to hold them back. Ten points to Gryffindor.

“Why don’t we just watch the movie right now, Stiles? We can work out the finer points on whether or not Russia is still communist later.”

Stiles nodded, but he didn’t move his face from its spot in Derek’s chest. It turned out that Derek Hale was incredibly comfortable. Who knew? If this wasn’t the worst Valentine’s Day ever, it would be really nice. He was too embarrassed to fall asleep during the movie, but watching people do even stupider things than him and then get killed for it relaxed him to the point that he was practically climbing Derek to burrow further into him before he even realized what he was doing. Derek didn’t seem to mind, because Derek was a good bro. He just adjusted around Stiles and kept watching the movie. Around the time the group of crazy people went under to try to reunite with the intrepid main character, Stiles felt a nose run itself back and forth along the back of his jawline, eyelashes brushing against the shell of his ear.

“Derek?”

“Mmmm?” The nose stopped moving, lips gently taking its place at the angle of his mandible. He couldn’t decide if the soft nibbles tickled or thrilled.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Accepting this.” Derek’s whispered response was so quiet that Stiles wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.

“Accepting what?”

Derek’s lips moved to Stiles’s earlobe, which they wrapped around for a moment before his teeth nipped. “You. Me. This. I don’t know why I fought it for so long. It’s just that you’re so much younger than me.” Tiny kisses showered themselves across and down Stiles’s cheek, Derek’s free arm finding its way to Stiles’s waist. “You were right. I shouldn’t fight it. This is so much better, so right.”

Stiles wasn’t sure he could move. He wasn’t sure how he should move if he could. Nothing Derek was saying was making sense. Nothing Derek was doing was making sense. Nothing was making sense. He half expected Ashton Kutcher to come out of a closet and proclaim him punked. Derek was kissing him. Derek was holding him. Derek was saying that he _wanted_ him. At least, that was what Stiles thought he was saying. Maybe. Did he want Derek? Were they bros? Did bros cuddle and brush hands over popcorn? What was going on in his life right now?!

Derek’s nose made a comeback, nudging and nuzzling at Stiles’s neck. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to decide how to handle this new development. Every new nudge, every slight nuzzle sent electric chills across the surface of his skin. He felt warm with that nose on his skin, those hands rubbing at his arm and his waist. He…he liked it. He liked it a _lot_. He just had to figure out where it was coming from.

“So, big guy, this is…I really, really want to. Yes. But, just--”

Derek’s mouth landed on his, their lips smashing together just this side of too hard. Derek needed chapstick, but Stiles needed to get closer. He angled his head slightly, rubbing his nose against Derek’s and pushing their lips together harder. Derek pulled him closer, angling him onto his lap and wrapping both arms around him. He got a hand into Derek’s hair, grabbing at it and kneading at the back of his skull. Derek moaned softly and Stiles’s cock twitched to life in response. Apparently he was into guys. He was very into guys—well, one guy, at least. He could work with this.

He pulled back a little. “Derek. Der. I. Yes. We…Please god, yes, but first--”

Derek angled his head down and licked a stripe up the back left side of Stiles’s neck, one of his hands rubbing soft vertical lines up and down the base of Stiles’s spine. Stiles physically shivered and thought of anything he could to keep himself from coming in his jeans.

“God, you smell so good. You always smell so good lately.” Derek actually ran his nose up the stripe he’d just licked, inhaling deeply on his way up. “The things you do to me, Stiles. Thank you for not letting me fight it. God, baby.”

 _Not letting him fight it_ …“Der, first thing, this thing between us right now is going to keep happening. Often, and with much and great force, because yes, it turns out that this is what I want. Second thing, I am always glad to help you…What, exactly, did I prevent you from fighting, precisely? Of course I know in general, I just want to be sure we agree on the specifics--”

Derek let go of him and let out the kind of sigh he normally let out before he started pummeling something. Stiles really hoped he wasn’t picturing pummeling him. Stiles wanted more of the kissing and less of the pummeling. Stiles wanted all of the kissing. “You—you don’t have any idea, do you? I thought…I thought you knew what you were doing. I thought this was all an elaborate seduction, a thorough way of telling me I should pursue you--”

“Totally was. Pursue away.”

Derek snorted out something that Stiles would take as a laugh. It was something, at least.

“So, if it wasn’t an elaborate seduction, I don’t understand what it was.” Derek moved to stand up. Stiles refused to let him go. _Not this time, Hale._ Derek was going to stay right where he was and talk to Stiles. They were going to work it all out and get back to the kissing, because yes. Even if Stiles still didn’t understand what was going on.

“I’m sorry, Der. You’re gonna have to help me. And you’re gonna have to stay right here with your arms around me while you’re doing it because as it turns out, I really, really like that. On a cuddling scale of one to ten, I’d say you easily surpass a thirteen. Now, how, exactly, did I seduce you? Besides Freddy Krueger and Mounds bars, which would do it for anyone—I understand that.”

Derek pulled him back against his chest and snuggled his face into Stiles’s hair, breathing in deeply. “You’re smarter than that, Stiles.” He placed tiny kitten licks—wolf licks?—down the side of Stiles’s head, through his hair. “Puzzle it out, baby. You know the answer to that already.” He nudged his nose in behind Stiles’s ear and took in a big whiff, moving his head so it stroked the length of Stiles’s ear. 

_Stop wearing my shit, Stiles. Take it off._ The brand new, in-wrapping clothes. _You bled on my shirt, Stiles. Don’t make me tell you again to stop wearing my clothes._ Jesus H. Christ on a goddamned Pogo stick. Stiles _had_ been seducing the poor alpha. 

“I knew you’d get it quickly, sweetheart.” 

Stiles could feel Derek’s smile against the base of his skull. “How do you know? Maybe I just remembered a _Call of Duty_ cheat code that will allow me to kick Scott’s ass next time we play together.”

Derek laughed, a low, deep rumble that bubbled out of his mouth and popped against Stiles’s skin like soap bubbles on a six year old August week day. Stiles practically reverberated with the pleasure that making Derek laugh like that brought him.

“Either way, I’m thrilled.”

Stiles nestled back, angling his head to present more of his neck to the alpha currently loving on him. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stopped if you told me.”

Derek licked and kissed at his neck, sucking and nipping lightly with his teeth on occasion. “I _did_ tell you. You refused to stop.”

Stiles really, really liked teeth. Stiles really liked teeth a lot. He turned around, licking a quick, short strip along Derek’s jawline. “You told me to stop wearing your shit. You didn’t tell me why. You know how much I need facts and reasons.”

Derek angled his head back, his neck on display to Stiles. “I didn’t need to tell you why. You knew why. Deep down, you knew why. You knew that mixing our scents like that was driving me crazy.”

Stiles followed Derek’s lead from earlier, licking and kissing, trying to suck and to nip gently and see if Derek liked teeth as much as he did. Derek sure acted like he did, gasping slightly when Stiles applied pressure and tightening a hand around the back of Stiles’s neck when he sucked a small patch of skin into his mouth through his teeth. His breathing got heavier as Stiles nibbled at his jaw, and Stiles’s mind started wandering toward Derek’s responses to his mouth on _other_ skin. He wondered what a dick that wasn’t his would feel like in his hands, against his skin. He wondered what it would taste like. He’d always heard it was nasty, but he had always been the curious sort. 

“I’d never been interested in guys before, you know.” Stiles rolled his neck to get Derek to ease up on his grip and sat back to look him in the eyes. “Even two hours ago, I’d have told you I was completely straight and meant every word of it.”

“Yet here we are.” Derek smiled at him, indulgence in his eyes and the warmth of laughter on his cheeks. It was a really good look on him. “And I seem to remember hearing several versions of ‘good god, yes.’”

“Here we are,” Stiles agreed. “I just…”

Derek leaned forward slightly and rested his forehead against Stiles. “I know. You can figure it out with me. This isn’t my first rodeo. We can go wherever you want to whenever you want to. Just…keep wearing my clothes, okay?”

Stiles laughed and leaned in for another kiss. “I think you can rest assured that this will be a thing that will continue happening. Your clothes are, like, made from actual clouds from Heaven and kissed by angels before being floated gently down here to bless us with their non-scratchy, hypoallergenic bliss.”

Derek leaned back and looked at him, a slight frown at his lips and confusion overtaking that one wrinkle low on his forehead. “Oh my god. That is seriously the reason you kept stealing my clothes, isn’t it? You seriously thought they were less itchy than your own. Jeezus.” He shook his head.

Stiles poked him in the chest. “Hey, I didn’t _think_. I _knew_. Also, we should go with that whole elaborate seduction angle if it will keep your lips on my lips.” 

Derek granted him a quick peck, lips barely touching lips. “Are you sure this is what you want? I’m pretty well in at this point, with the mixing of our scents at the level it’s at, but I can go away for a while and it’ll be…better. I would get it if you wanted your first experience with a guy--”

“My first experience,” Stiles interjected. Derek might as well know the full extent of what he was getting into.

Derek rolled his head back. “Christ. Your first experience. Fine. I would get it if you wanted your first _experience_ to be with someone more your age and more dad-appropriate--”

Stiles snorted. “I like that you think there’s someone out there that my dad would find appropriate. And fuck age. We’re not that far apart. And you’re not _actually_ a fugitive homicidal maniac, it turns out, so I think we’ll be okay--”

Derek clapped a hand over Stiles’s mouth. “Stiles. Let me finish a fucking sentence. I would get it, is the point. And it would hurt a lot less if you told me that now than if you tried to hide me from everybody and then told me that later, so I need you to think about this in a manner that is _not_ typical Stiles and then answer me.”

Stiles quirked one of his eyebrows and then licked the hand over his mouth. Derek chuckled and moved his hand. Stiles didn’t answer him right away—what Derek said had merit, and Derek deserved a well thought-out response simply based on the number of times he’d saved Stiles’s ass in the past. Instead, Stiles dove into him and snuggled his head against his chest, wrapping his arms around his wolf and settling in for a good think. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles without a word, leaning back against the couch and holding Stiles against him.

Stiles could really enjoy being into guys if he got cuddles like this on a regular basis. Hell, he could really enjoy it if he got cuddles like this on a semi-regular basis. Derek was also a hell of a kisser, and Stiles would have free rein to wear as many of Derek’s clothes as he’d like if they were officially dating. He could even sleep in them if he wanted to…Though chances were good that if they were seriously dating he wouldn’t need the clothes because he’d have the guy. He always slept better with someone else in the room, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to agree to date someone seriously, was it? He’d never actually dated anyone seriously. All he had to look to was Scott and Allison, and that…No. “So, we wouldn’t have to be all like Scott and Allison, right? Because I would have to kill us then, and I like us. I don’t want us dead.”

Derek laughed. “No. God no. We would be us, which I suspect would be nothing like the two of them. We…wouldn’t even have to hang out with them much?” 

Stiles didn’t miss the hopeful uptick in Derek’s voice at the end of that question. “No way, good looking. That is my best friend and his girlfriend, and it doesn’t matter how absolutely nauseating they are, I spend time with them. If you’re spending time with me, then that’s that. You and Scott are going to have to get over your issues with each other. I like both of you.”

Derek’s embrace tightened just a bit. “I can do that, sweetheart. I can play nice with your bonehead best friend. Anything else?”

Stiles laughed into Derek’s chest. “Thank you. You’d also have to meet my dad, like properly meet him in a non-jail, I’m-not-a-fugitive sort of way. He’s not going to believe this. You remember that time we ended up in that gay club trying to save Danny from Jackson?”

A rumble echoed through Derek’s chest. “I remember a different sort of night that night, but I know what you’re talking about. Go on.”

Stiles shrugged and placed a kiss on one of Derek’s pecs to make him feel better about whatever. “I started off my explanation to Dad by saying I wasn’t gay. He proceeded to say he knew that already from my wardrobe and choice in hobbies. I couldn’t argue with him then--”

“Dating me doesn’t make you gay, baby. There are lots of different labels for--”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, fine. _Bi_ , then. Whatever. The point is, neither of us ever believed I’d have to tell him I was in a romantic relationship with another male, let alone one that he had spent considerable time believing had killed two or three people. That was my point.”

Derek dug his fingertips lightly into Stiles’s sides, and Stiles squirmed like he was supposed to, letting a giggle loose to appease the alpha beneath him. “And whose fault was that, I wonder,” Derek pondered.

Stiles laid his head back down on Derek’s chest, placing another kiss against his t-shirt. “We did apologize for that.”

Derek snorted and they laid on the couch, tangled up in each other’s arms in a blissful silence for the rest of the night. Stiles loved Valentine’s Day.

~~~

Two days later, Stiles still hadn’t given Derek a definitive “you’re my boyfriend” answer. He’d already decided he was going to—after carefully weighing the pros and cons, mind you—but he wanted to make sure that Derek knew he was taking this whole mull-it-over-properly thing super seriously. He was pretty much wearing Derek’s shirts exclusively, because no matter what he did to them, he couldn’t get even the clothes Derek had bought for him to achieve that same level of fluffy goodness as the ones Derek had gifted him with, but he hadn’t given Derek the yes he was going to. 

They were currently hanging out in Derek’s loft, which turned out to be a teenage boy’s wet dream. He kept them hidden away, but Derek had one of the biggest TVs Stiles had ever seen and all the major gaming consoles. If he hadn’t been learning over the last couple months what a huge nerd Derek was when nobody was looking, he’d be a little bit worried about hidden proclivities. He always had decent chips, too. Those were the good things about Derek’s loft. The down side was that holy shit, Stiles was permanently cold over there. Summer, fall, winter, spring—didn’t matter. The A/C was up or the heat was down. It was fucking freezing. Scott had explained to him once that wolves just ran hot, and he was always too hot at his mom’s house, so Stiles figured that was what was up with Derek’s place, but good God in heaven, he needed feet and hands, not big blocks of ice. 

“Der, I don’t suppose you’ve got an extra sweatshirt around here, by chance? A hoodie, maybe? I’m freezing.”

Derek popped a quick kiss on his forehead and chucked the controller down before heading downstairs to the main area, presumably to grab more of his clothes for Stiles to steal. This was one of the reasons Stiles had decided he would make such excellent boyfriend material. Stiles returned his focus to whichever version of _GTA_ they were bonding over and set out to kill some hookers and steal some cars. Derek came back up and tossed a green hoodie at his head that looked suspiciously familiar. He grabbed it and held it up; it was his. “So, I don’t remember you stealing my clothes,” he teased.

“You left that in my car last week after the wendigo and milkshake incident.”

Stiles looked at it again. There was no way this was the same hoodie. “You managed to get out blood, monster spit, AND chocolate? And managed to make it fluffy like your clothes?” He held it to his nose, because Derek’s clothes always smelled as good as they felt. Sure enough, he could smell Derek’s detergent and fabric softener. More than that, the hoodie smelled like _Derek_. He inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint the scent. _Derek_ permeated the hoodie. Stiles slipped it on and narrowed his eyes at his werewolf, trying to work it out mentally. “This is too small for you.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “No shit, Sherlock.” He grabbed the controller and turned to the screen, obviously mistakenly believing they were done with this conversation.

“This hoodie wouldn’t fit you,” Stiles pressed.

“I wouldn’t wear it, Stiles. Not really my color.” He rejoined the game, not glancing over at Stiles. The gears in Stiles’s head whirred and steamed. “But it smells like you. Not just your fabric softener, _you_.”

Derek did look over at that statement, but his face had gone completely blank. “You can recognize my scent?”

Stiles hated blankface. “Of course I can recognize your scent, moron. It’s very Derek-like. It smells like fabric softener and moonlight and blankets and cheeseburgers and home. I’d know it anywhere. Why does my hoodie smell like you?” He couldn’t have worn it, and the smell wouldn’t have been so obvious if it had just mixed with Derek’s other clothes in the wash. Stiles knew—he’d tried it. He supposed Derek could have wrapped it up and put it in one of his gym bags to give back to him when he saw—

“I slept with it.”

—him next. _Wow_. “You…slept with it?”

Derek sighed. “Don’t get weird with this, Stiles.”

Derek. Slept. With. It. He slept with it. Why would he do that? Did he miss Stiles that much when they weren’t together? Maybe he _was_ too far into this thing they really didn’t have going yet, even. Maybe it was going to be way too serious for Stiles. Fuck, was he going to go all jealous stalker boyfriend on Stiles? Stiles wouldn’t stop being friends with Scott or hanging out with Danny on occasion when Danny didn’t really realize that the two of them were hanging out. That wasn’t going to—

“I know you like stealing my clothes when they smell a certain way—more like me than detergent. I thought if I took it to bed with me for a night, it would have the scent combination on it that you liked and you’d feel safer in it those times I can’t be around.”

—happen. Fuck. Something was happening to Stiles’s chest. It wasn’t—he didn’t think it was a panic attack. He knew panic attacks. This didn’t feel like a panic attack. He was having problems with the breathing like a panic attack, and his heart was beating way too fast like a panic attack, but he didn’t feel like he was going to spin out of control. He didn’t feel boxed in, trapped in a tunnel. He felt all floaty, so why was he having problems breathing and calming his heart? “You—you…You did that for me?” And now he was wheezing. Great.

Derek tossed the controller down and had Stiles wrapped up in his arms before Stiles had even realized that he’d moved. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought you’d like it. I’m still trying to figure you out.” Derek kissed the side of his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I won’t do it again.”

“No!” Stiles’s exclamation may have come out a little more loudly than he’d meant for it to. “No, that was possibly the sweetest, most considerate thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He could feel the gigantic mass blocking his wind pipe, which explained why he couldn’t breathe. He swallowed around it. “I…Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just. You did that for me and I didn’t expect you to…You thought about me. People don’t usually do that.”

Derek kissed the side of his head again and pulled him back further against his chest. “I do. I think about you all the time, it seems. Your scent is everywhere. It’s on my clothes, it’s on my furniture, it’s on my skin, it’s in my head. It’s mixed with mine. You’re mixed with me. I want to make you comfortable. I want to help you. That will never change, baby boy. It doesn’t matter whether we’re dating or not. I will always think about you.”

“God. Yes.” Stiles’s voice cracked and broke. He hoped Derek had heard him, because he would legitimately start crying if he had to say it again, and telling someone you want them to be your boyfriend was supposed to be a tear-free occasion.

Derek’s chin landed on the top of his head. “What?”

“God, Derek, you’re already my boyfriend. Let’s make this bitch official.” Stiles sniffled slightly to let Derek know he was getting into uncomfortably awkward, potentially dangerous territory. Derek laughed in response and lifted Stiles up where he was sitting, spinning him around and setting him back down in his lap. 

“Consider this bitch official then, baby boy.” Derek leaned in to kiss him, and Stiles didn’t wait. He deepened the kiss, pulling Derek in as close as he could get him. His wolf responded exactly the way he’d hoped, reaching around to hold him tightly and kissing away the tightness in his chest and the fluttering in his heart.


End file.
